Circular Reasoning
by rebeldivaluv
Summary: Rory's sudden trip home becomes a journey to selfdiscovery. And love. Complete.
1. Part One

**_Circular Reasoning_**

Disclaimer: These are Amy Sherman-Palladino's to use and abuse as she chooses. I just borrowed them for a minute.

**Part One**

Snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes, carpeting the ground in a soothing bed of white. The world around was hushed and silent; through breaks in the clouds, the stars shone so brightly one could almost believe somewhere angels really were singing, "Peace on earth, goodwill toward men."

It was the kind of night Lorelai Gilmore lived for. She would take a walk in the snow, smiling as though she had deciphered some hidden message revealed in the drifting snowflakes. She would laugh and sparkle and make the world seem alive and real and wonderful, instead of the dismal, disappointing mess her daughter knew it to be.

When she was with her mother, Rory found herself believing in magic. In snow. In happily ever after. Her mother had never lost that faith; not once, in a lifetime of waiting, had she given up her sense of enchantment.

That thought made Rory press down harder on the gas pedal. She longed for her mother's faith tonight. Christmas Eve. Of all the nights in the year, the one most designed to inspire hope and anticipation.

After five years covering stories about famine-stricken lands, countries divided by war, babies dying of AIDS, dictators massacring their own people, politicians full of corruption and vice, Rory Gilmore didn't have an ounce of hope left in her. She was tired, defeated. She wanted to go home. She needed her mother.

Lorelai didn't know she was coming. There hadn't been a chance to call her before the flight, and once Rory was back in the States, she'd decided to surprise her mom. It was Christmas, after all. She rented a car in Hartford and was halfway home now, Christmas music blaring on the radio. Her stress slowly dissipated as the miles between her and cozy little Stars Hollow disappeared one by one.

Stars Hollow at Christmastime. There was no more beautiful sight in all the world, Rory could now say with authority. Twinkle lights on all the houses, a huge tree in the middle of the town square. Windows decorated for the season, carolers roaming the streets. It was a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

Rory had grown to appreciate that innocence as she never thought she would.

Her thoughts were so full of home she forgot to watch the road as carefully as she should. Rounding a bend, the car slipped on the black ice and plunged into a snow bank.

It all happened in moments. Rory barely had time to panic before it was over, and she was sitting in her seat, perfectly safe and sound – _thank God for seatbelts_, she mentally sighed – but with a car that absolutely refused to start.

"This is not happening," she groaned, leaning her head against the steering wheel. Only ten miles from home and no way to get there. She couldn't walk; even if the distance had been manageable, the snowstorm was fast becoming a blizzard, and she was still dressed for warm weather. Thin khakis and a short-sleeved shirt were no match for twenty degree weather.

She flicked on the hazard lights and then pulled out her cell phone. "So much for the surprise," she muttered, punching in her home number.

The phone rang a couple times before Lorelai's voice came on the line. "Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?"

"It's me, Mom. I'm—"

"Oh, wait! I'm the one who's not here. Sorry. Life happens."

Rory hung up without leaving a message. Somehow, hearing the recorded message on the answering machine only made her long more for her real, live, flesh and blood mother. She tried her mother's cell next, but it was out of service. Damn cell phones, anyway.

Luke's Diner was next on her list of possibilities, but there she encountered only a gruff message from Luke telling customers they were closed early for Christmas.

She was struggling to remember Sookie and Jackson's number when headlights pulled to a stop behind her. A car door slammed, and footsteps crunched along the snow toward her. Rory rolled down her window, trying to ignore the blast of freezing air which sent a chill straight to her bones.

And just as suddenly, she was flushed as if with fever. _This is seriously not happening_. Had all the Fates aligned against her on this one, never-ending day?

"Do you need any help?" he called.

He still hadn't recognized her. Granted, she was concealed in the darkness of the car, while there was no mistaking his six feet, four inch frame in the glare of his headlights.

"No, I'm all right, thanks," she yelled back in a high soprano. She wished she had her mother's talent for voices.

There was a sharp, indrawn breath, and he leaned down to peer in the driver's side window. "Rory?"

She offered him a nervous smile he couldn't possibly see in the dark. "Hi, Dean."

"Of all the—" He stopped himself short, pulling back and running a hand through his hair. She watched his face for a second; she saw the confusion and the pain, and then it was all buried behind an expressionless mask, as he asked blandly, "What happened?"

"I ran into a snow bank. What's it look like?" she snapped, inexplicably angry. Why did she always have to turn into the damsel in distress around him? It was pathetic. Even he must think so by now.

"Car won't start?" It was barely a question. He was already headed toward the hood of the circa 1980 vehicle.

"I'll be fine, Dean. Help's already on the way," she lied.

He wasn't listening. The hood popped open, and Dean's head vanished behind it.

"Ugh!" Rory fumed, hastily unbuckling her seatbelt. "Stupid men, acting all…manlike." She stepped into the street, soaking her lightly clad feet in ankle-deep snow, and trudged over to yell at the back of her ex-boyfriend's head. "I _can_ take care of myself, you know. I'm not completely helpless. Maybe I can't tell a bolt from a socka-thingamajig, but I know how to call a tow-truck as well as the next girl."

Dean didn't even look at her as he responded coolly, "Get back in the car, Rory. You'll freeze out here."

"Further argument is fruitless, I suppose."

"Likely."

"You are aware of the full range of my whining, pestering, tormenting and pleading abilities, aren't you?"

"Quite." She could almost hear a smile in his voice.

"And that I have nothing better to do at this moment than to turn them all upon you?"

"Until your mouth freezes, yeah."

"And yet you still feel confident enough to bark orders at me."

"It wasn't an order. It was a suggestion. You're more than welcome to stand over my shoulder, soaking up the little light I can get and continuing your one-sided conversation, making this whole process take about ten times longer than it should, and getting nothing for your pains but hypothermia. Your choice, Rory."

Rory thought for a long moment, but still the best retort she could come up with was, "You suck." She didn't wait for an answer before turning back to the car.

"Hey, Rory!" he called, finally looking up at her.

"What?" she snapped.

Dean sighed, the same deep, calming sigh she'd memorized years ago. Then he shrugged off his overcoat and handed it to her. "Here. Wrap yourself up tight."

The concern in his voice, the caring look in his eyes…it was unexpected, to say the least, and Rory mutely reached for the proffered jacket. She slipped it around her slim shoulders and held onto it with both arms to keep it from sinking to the ground. As it was, the hem dragged along behind her, creating a gentle raking sound over the smooth snow.

She returned to the relative warmth of the car, shutting the door and rolling up the window, partly to shut out the cold – partly to shut out him.

Rory frowned. Her thoughts had been so centered on returning to her mother; she hadn't even considered the possibility of encountering anyone else from her past. Especially not him.

Things had been left unsettled between them, to say the least. After their final breakup at her grandmother's party, Rory had seen Dean only once – when he came to tell her goodbye for good. He was leaving town, he'd said; he had to get away from the memories and the guilt. He hadn't told her where he was going; she hadn't asked.

She had wanted to ask. How well she remembered wanting to stop him, to beg him to stay, to tell him she loved him, and they needed to find a way to finally make this work. But she couldn't. Like so many times before, the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was kiss him with the last bit of passion in her breaking heart and let him walk away.

That had been seven years ago. She'd still been in college then, with plenty of willing distractions to drown out the pain. She'd dated Logan, and he'd treated her like shit and finally left her, just as Jess had done. She'd dated Marty and broken his heart when he discovered she couldn't love him the way he needed.

And that was only the beginning. Rory Gilmore's love life was a broken record of repeating cadences and had been since she was seventeen and proved it was actually possible to regress mentally and emotionally enough to give up the perfect guy for one with whom she had known it couldn't last.

She had been paying for that mistake ever since.

And yet, somehow, he was always back when she needed him most.

Rory covered her eyes with her fists and moaned. This was the absolute last thing she needed right now. It was so like her when life was falling apart to latch onto the nearest available support. She had meant to hold onto her mother now, and all it took was a serendipitous coincidence to have her turning back down well-trodden paths.

"I'm not doing this again," she swore in a whisper. It wasn't fair to Dean. He deserved better than that. Better than her.

She watched him as he stepped around to the side of the car. He had aged well, grown into himself, she thought. He was wearing a suit and tie – an expensive one, if she was any judge – and yet there he was working away at her car as if he was still playing with old parts in the junkyard.

She wondered what he had been doing with himself all these years. Where he had lived. What he had done. Who he had met. _Is he married again?_

The thought popped into her head unbidden and was followed by an even nastier, accusing one: _Would it stop you if he was?_

She banged her hands against the steering wheel, inadvertently hitting the horn. Dean's head popped up, and he let out a curse.

To cover for her embarrassment, Rory opened the door and yelled out, "What's taking so long?" as though her action had been purposeful.

Dean walked to her side. "It's too hard to see in this damn blizzard. I think the best bet is for me to give you a ride into town. I can come back tomorrow and fix it."

"You don't need to do that," Rory argued. "I can give Gypsy a call. I'm sure she—"

"Tomorrow's Christmas, Rory, in case you're forgetting. Gypsy won't be working, and if she does do you a favor, it'll cost you an arm and a leg."

"Yes, but I have a couple extra to spare, so I don't mind."

"And I don't mind helping. Please, Rory, let me help you for once, all right?" There was a note of weariness in Dean's voice which stopped all further protests before they even reached her lips.

She nodded slowly. "A ride would be nice, thanks."

"Get your stuff, and we'll go. I can't feel my toes anymore."

"I don't have any stuff," Rory admitted, as she grabbed her purse. She hadn't even gone back to her hotel room before heading home.

Dean looked surprised but didn't comment. Perhaps he saw the haunted, guarded expression descend on her face, or perhaps he really was as cold as he said. In any case, he led her back to his car in silence.

"So this is new," she murmured as the BMW sprang to life.

"It's not mine; it's a rental," Dean responded flippantly. His eyes were only on the road. Part of that whole responsible thing he had always mastered so well, that thing it seemed Rory would never learn.

"You're just back for Christmas then, too."

"The holidays, yeah. I didn't think you would be, though." His voice trailed off for a moment, before continuing, "I saw you on CNN yesterday; I thought there wasn't much chance you would catch a flight between then and now. Guess I was wrong."

Rory understood what he was saying and what he left unsaid. He only came home when he thought she wouldn't be there; after seven years, he was still avoiding her. The thought stung, and she responded in the first phase of anger. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize I was obligated to inform you of all my travel plans. Next time, I'll make sure you have at least two weeks advance notice of my itinerary. Will that give you enough time to prepare?"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. There was nothing but bitterness in them. Apparently, seven years hadn't eased the hurt for her, either.

Dean winced. "I don't want to fight, Rory."

"You started it," she retorted childishly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…what you think I meant."

"What did you mean?"

Dean sighed again. She loved that sigh; it was hard to stay angry when she heard his every thought and emotion expressed in that one sound.

"You and I…it's a small town, Rory…people are always going to talk…always going to remember…" She heard the self-condemnation in his words, the guilt which would never go away. Perhaps, more even than her own inconstancy and fear, it was the guilt that had driven them apart.

She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't want to be reminded of that either. "Okay. Topic change."

A smile played around the corners of his full lips. "Stars Hollow." He nodded in the direction of the approaching streetlamps.

Rory released a sigh of her own. A satisfied breath of homecoming as she looked around and saw the lights on the gazebo, Miss Patty's Studio, the window display in Doose's Market.

"Nothing's changed." Dean echoed her sentiments, and somehow she knew he viewed the sight with the same relief mingled with poignant nostalgia she was feeling.

"Nope, nothing's changed," she agreed happily.

And it was only natural that her hand would come to rest close to his on the car seat. And it was only right that his would cover and squeeze hers, engulfing her in a flood of reassurance and safety.

Indeed, nothing had changed at all.

Dean had said an awkward goodbye and left her at the doorstep of her house, taking her keys with the promise to have the car returned to her before the next day's end. Lorelai still wasn't home, so Rory let herself in with the spare key in the turtle, thankful her mother never thought of changing her hiding place.

Once inside, she was greeted by everything homey and wonderful and familiar. The tree was in the exact same spot in the living room, with the same decorations they'd used every year since Rory was born. There was still something comforting in the sight of them, old, battered, and junkie as they were.

The differences were so small it took time to notice them. An extra stocking hung from the mantel on the other side of Lorelai's. Flannel shirts were added to the haphazard heaps of clothing littering the floor. (Lorelai must be putting off laundry day again, Rory thought with a smile.) An old, blue baseball cap hung on the banister.

But even this wasn't a change, not really. Luke had always been part of her life, her dad in all but biology. She was glad he and her mother had finally got the fairy tale ending Lorelai had dreamed of for so long. Dirty clothes on the floor and all.

Rory made her way to the kitchen. More than twelve hours with nothing to eat but airplane food had left her ravenous, and another benefit to Luke being a permanent fixture in this house was discovered in the presence of real, edible, non-expired food in the refrigerator.

She slowly went about the process of making herself a sandwich, her thoughts on anything but the mundane task before her. War. Death. Freezing. Failure. Lorelai. Luke. Lorelai and Luke. Stars Hollow at Christmastime. Dean. Dean's hands. Dean's guilt. Her own.

She was so engrossed in melancholy musings she wasn't aware of her mother's return until her ears were assaulted by the squealing at the same time she was bowled over by the moving mass of energy and caffeine which represented the physical essence of Lorelai Gilmore.

"RORY!!! You're home! Why didn't you tell me!? I just spent an entire evening with my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Boring Borington, while they discussed the relative merits of blue and white chip stocks, white wine and red, and other things of the primary color variety, when I could have been home with my little droopy drawers!"

Rory couldn't think up a clever response. She held onto her mother, resting her head against her shoulder, and soaked in the healing presence. She smiled slightly. The world was beautiful again.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

"Is that real? That can't be real. I must still be dreaming. Tell me I'm still dreaming."

Lorelai looked up from her paper as her daughter emerged from a long night's slumber. "Of Jeannie?"

"Of Bacon. And eggs. And waffles. And French toast. And coffee, a whole steaming, beautiful pot of Luke's coffee."

"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I made everything," Luke told her, flipping a blueberry pancake.

"Wow, I feel special." Rory stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."

Luke shrugged off her gesture in his usual gruff manner. "Yeah, well, I kinda owed it to you, since you won't be getting any gifts this year."

"Wow, I feel not so special," she pouted.

"We'd already shipped them off," Lorelai explained, giving her daughter a rib-cracking hug – the latest of many in the twelve hours Rory had been home. "We didn't realize you'd be back this year. They'll be waiting for you when you get home."

Home. This was home. She had an apartment in New York where she stayed on the rare occasions she was stateside, but, in the four years since she'd leased it, she had spent a grand total of sixty-seven nights there. Stars Hollow was home.

"It's all right." Rory offered her mother a weak smile.

"If it makes you feel any better, Santa left you this."

Rory took the old sock Lorelai held out to her. It was mostly empty, except for something lodged in the bottom. She had to turn the sock upside down before it fell into her hand.

A lump of coal.

"Apparently, you've been a bad, bad girl this year," Lorelai teased. "Good for you."

"Well, it's a credit to you I'm worthy of this. You taught me everything I know."

"Oh, no, you don't, little missy. Your flaws are entirely of your father's making. I gave you only what is pure and angelic in your blood." Lorelai fluttered her eyelashes playfully.

"Ah! Then it's him I have to thank for all the fun I've been having, and you get the blame for the guilt complex that goes with it."

"Hey! No fair! I want credit for the good things."

"Can't have it both ways." Rory shook her head in mock pity.

"Of course I can," Lorelai argued, drawing out her words as she searched for an appropriate comeback. "For I am…your mother and father both. Yes, that's right; I said it. It was a virgin birth. 'Round yon virgin'? In truth, all about you and me, kid."

"Wow." Rory stared at her mother in open-mouthed amazement.

"You believe that?"

"No, I'm starting to understand why Mrs. Kim never liked you. Blasphemy, thy name is Lorelai."

"Amen, sister friend."

"Since you've already said grace, eat your breakfast, the both of you," Luke grumped, placing two steaming, heaping platefuls of food before them.

"We love you," Lorelai purred up at him, as she took her first bite.

"You caught yourself a real nice man there, Mama," Rory agreed.

"And housebroke him, too."

"Job well done."

"I like to think so," Luke cut in, ruffling Lorelai's hair as he sat down with his own breakfast.

Rory caught the look they shared and dropped her eyes down to her plate. It was a lovers' look, something private in which she could have no share. Her mother wasn't solely hers anymore.

No sooner had she started to develop a nice feeling of self-pity, though, than their attention was on her.

"So, Rory, you said you were too tired to talk last night; how's this morning's schedule looking for explanations?"

Rory froze. She'd known this moment was coming; she'd simply hoped she could put it off a little longer. "Okay. What needs explaining?"

"That's a mean question. Now, if I say something like, 'Why you're here,' I sound like I don't want you here, and you know I'm never happier than when my other half is in the same living space."

"I need you not to freak out," Rory said abruptly.

Lorelai's look went from gentle and loving to panicked in as much time as it took Rory to set her fork on her plate. "Why would you say that? Why does anyone say that? Nothing makes someone freak out as much as being told not to freak out. What happened that would give me cause to freak out?"

"Easy," Luke warned, rubbing a spot low on Lorelai's back.

"I just need to remind you before I begin that I'm sitting here talking to you, safe and sound and all in one piece, as you can see," Rory said calmly.

"Why are these words coming out of your mouth? The last time I heard words like this from you, you'd been in a car crash. Were you in another car crash, Rory?"

"Well, technically, yes, but I wasn't thinking of that."

Lorelai's jaw dropped. "Oh, so that's not the thing that's not supposed to freak me out?"

"That was last night, after I got home, and it wasn't a big deal. My car slipped on some black ice and went into a snowbank, and I was fine, because we have safety belt laws in this country, and I'm generally pretty good about obeying laws and such, so really, I didn't deserve that lump of coal, and Santa obviously got me confused with Lacey Richardson down the street, because she never would put on her bicycle helmet like I told her to."

"Not helping," Luke half-coughed in Rory's direction to stop the rambling.

"Oh, right. Mom, I'm fine. I'm a reporter, and things like this have to be expected."

"Things like what?" Lorelai's voice had risen no less than two octaves. She groped for Rory's hands, as if desperate for the physical assurance her daughter was sitting there before her.

Rory pressed her hands back willingly. "There was a shooting."

"My God. Where?"

"In Santo Domingo." She saw the blank looks on their faces and added, "The capital of the Dominican Republic."

"Thanks for the geography lesson, but can we please get to the part where I'm not panicking about the stuff I don't need to panic about?"

Rory decided simple and straightforward was the only way to appease her mother right now. "I had just finished my report. I'm glad I had, actually, so you didn't have to see it. That would have totally freaked you out, and I didn't have access to a phone for a long time afterwards."

"But you're okay, you're all right," Luke mumbled to comfort Lorelai.

"Yes, I'm fine. I wasn't hurt. My cameraman saved my life. He pushed me to the ground, until the violence stopped. It's fine, Mom. Fine."

Lorelai's panic had subsided enough for her to hear the strange note in her daughter's voice. "But something's wrong. You're not fine, or you wouldn't be telling me this."

Rory bit her lip, and her gaze shifted guiltily to Luke. She loved him almost like a real father, but there were some things she could never discuss with anyone but Lorelai.

Luke took the hint without taking offense. "Yeah, well, I've got some laundry to do. I'll see you around later." He gave Lorelai a quick kiss and planted a tender one on Rory's forehead before vacating the room.

"Laundry?" Rory commented as soon as he disappeared.

"I know," Lorelai giggled.

"You weren't kidding about the housebreaking."

"Well, one of us had to be the wife around here, and it wasn't going to be me."

"Obviously. You have no talent for it."

"Which he knew when he took me."

"He was given ample warning?"

"I did all I could to talk him out of him, but he was just determined…"

"Masochist."

"Probably."

"I want that," Rory said wistfully, unaware the words had left her mouth.

"Masochism?"

"That goofy smile you get whenever you talk about Luke."

"You know I love you, baby, but you can't have Luke."

"I never got that Barbi dream house I asked for either," Rory pouted.

The jesting reprieve from the heavy conversation was over. Lorelai's smile faded, replaced by a look of loving concern.

"What happened?"

"I froze," Rory admitted, not even trying to evade the subject longer. "There was all this shooting and screaming, and I just stood there. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't run. If Darryl hadn't pulled me to the ground, I'd be dead right now."

Lorelai's eyes closed in mingled horror and relief. Her baby could have died, and she wouldn't have known it until too late. "Remind me to send Darryl a fruit basket next Christmas."

"Mom."

"Does he not like fruit? I'm not sure what else to put in a basket. Lotions. Does he like lotions? Is he that kind of guy? Are there those kinds of guys?"

"_Mom_."

"Sorry. Continue."

"And when it was all over, I walked down the street to the American Embassy and took the next flight out of there. I didn't file a story. I didn't investigate, report, try to help – I didn't do anything. I couldn't even do my job, and now I'm sure I don't have a job to go back to, and I don't really care, because it was so awful, Mom."

"Oh, Rory."

"No! Listen. It was hideous. I'd dreamed my whole life of this, and everyone told me I could do it – except Jess, he said it would be too hard for me – and he was right, it was. I couldn't do it. I failed. I fail at everything, really; everything in life that really matters, I fail."

"You didn't fail, Rory, and I don't want to hear words like that from you again." Lorelai's tone was uncharacteristically sharp as she faced her daughter.

"Mom, listen to—"

"No, Rory, you listen to me." And to make it impossible to run away, Lorelai cupped her daughter's chin in her hand and forced her to meet her gaze. "Jess was never right about anything. If he was, he never could have treated you the way he did. You are not a failure, Rory. You were scared, and rightfully so. You were in danger, and you got yourself out of danger. That's not failure. That means you have enough sense to value your life more than your job. It doesn't make you a bad reporter, and it certainly doesn't make you a bad person."

Rory shook her head free. "I ran away, Mom. Just like I always do. A problem gets too big, I can't face it, and I run away."

"Rory, how long had you been on assignment without a break?"

"I don't know, but that doesn't have anything to—"

"Eight months and four days. I know. I keep a tally. Eight months and four days since you had a chance to come home and de-stress. All the while you've been running around the world, covering horrible event after horrible event. Anyone would need to run away from that. You did exactly what you were supposed to do; you came home."

"But I—"

"Nuh-uh."

"I should have—"

"Zip it."

"You can't—"

This time her mother spared herself words and pressed a forkful of eggs to Rory's mouth. "Shush. Eat."

Rory knew when to admit defeat. "Fank you," she said around her food.

"Anytime." Lorelai smiled and brushed her daughter's hair back.

Forgiveness came to Rory through her mother's words. And with it, peace.

* * *

"It's not a wonderful life, Jimmy, whatever they may tell you. It's a crappy, sucky life. Jump off the damn bridge already," Lorelai fumed.

"Way to get into the Christmas spirit there, honey."

"You have your ways, we have ours," Rory defended her mother with a smile.

They were halfway through their marathon of 'Movies for Those Who Mock Movies: The Christmas Edition,' and Rory was contentedly perched to one side of her mother on the couch, while Luke sulked on the other.

"We really should save this one for last," Lorelai mused. "So much to mock."

"I think you're forgetting a little wonder called 'Babes in Toyland,'" Rory reminded her.

"The one with Annette Funicello, sans Frankie?"

"The others all pale by comparison."

"That's because they don't have multiple, Technicolor, dancing Annettes in them."

"And stop-animation soldiers."

"Hard to see why they abandoned that for computers, really."

"I'm saying."

"I need another drink," Luke groaned.

"Ooh! Me, too." Lorelai held up her empty cup.

Luke looked askance at her. "What do you expect me to do with this?"

Lorelai didn't answer. She just used her best pout and waited until he caved. It was a strategy she'd successfully employed with everyone in her life since the day she was born. The woman had an irresistible pout.

Luke groaned, defeated again. "What do you want?"

"Margaritas sound great." All trace of unhappiness vanished in a brilliant, triumphant smile.

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon!"

"On Christmas Day," Rory added helpfully.

"Fine," Lorelai relented, before grinning. "Eggnog then."

Luke sighed the sigh of deepest suffering humanity and headed toward the kitchen.

"Only without the eggs," Lorelai called after him.

"Or the cream," Rory seconded.

"Basically just some rum would be nice."

"I'm outliving both of you," Luke returned from the kitchen.

Rory was still giggling when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," she called, suddenly remembering Dean's promise to stop by.

Too late.

Luke was halfway to the door before she'd managed to extricate herself from the couch cushions. He pulled it open, exactly as she careened around the corner.

"Luke…hi," Dean said awkwardly. And for the life of her, Rory couldn't withhold a laugh. He looked sixteen again before Luke's surprise and anger. Dean's eyes traveled to her, and a rueful smile showed he knew what she was thinking. "Hey, Rory."

Luke turned toward her, even as she heard her mother joining them from the living room. "Rory? Explain."

"Ah, well, see, I was going to mention this earlier, when I was rambling, but you stopped my rambling before I got to the part I knew you wouldn't like so much, even though there's no real reason for you not to like it, as it's completely innocent and accidental, and…I can see I'm winning no friends here on any side, so to come to the point: after my accident, I tried calling here, but got no answer, since you and Mom were out with Grandma, Grandpa, and the Boringtons."

"And I was driving to my parents when I spotted her car and stopped," Dean added, trying to save her the retelling.

"He didn't even know it was me," Rory put in hastily. "He just stopped, because he's nice and helpful like that, and he gave me a ride home."

"And promised I'd get her car to her tomorrow, which is now, today, and her car is outside, and here are your keys, Rory." Dean took exactly one step into the house to reach Rory with the car keys, carefully skirting wide of Luke. Rory meekly stretched out her hand to receive them. "And now I'm going. Bye."

He stepped back outside and headed quickly down the steps. Luke was still holding the door open, too stunned to move, while Lorelai stared at her daughter with an all-too-knowing look.

Slowly, Lorelai tore her gaze away from Rory and followed Dean outside. "Hey, Narcolepsy Boy, get back here."

Dean was halfway down the driveway. He paused, standing with his back to them, and for a moment Rory thought he was going to keep walking. It would certainly be the smart thing to do after all their history, she thought, ignoring the part of her that wanted to beg him to stay.

As it turned out, she didn't need to. He turned, ran a hand over his face as though he couldn't believe he was doing this, either, and then walked back to the porch. "What?"

"Any big plans for the day?" Lorelai asked. She seemed to realize Rory couldn't have this conversation herself.

"Not really. My family does all the Christmas stuff in the morning. I was just going to hang around town now. Why?"

"We're having a movie day. Luke needs company to commiserate."

Dean's gaze shifted nervously to Luke. "Yeah?"

Luke had no problem reading the pleading looks on both the Gilmore girls' faces. He knew what was required of him. "Come on in, Dean," he relented grudgingly, stepping back from the door.

He needed more assurance than either of the parental figures could give him. "Rory?" he asked softly.

Once again, words were her enemy. But she looked him straight in the eye as she nodded and risked a smile.

Dean smiled back, dimples and all. "Okay, then. Sure."

"Great," piped up Lorelai, needing no instructions to take the lead in this – or any – conversation. "This calls for a special celebration!"

Rory beamed. "You mean…?"

"Yups. No more waiting. It's time for the granddaddy: 'Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.'"

"Hooray! Somebody loves me!" Rory enthused, throwing her arms round her mother, as they hopped back to the couch.

From somewhere behind them, Rory thought she heard two identical groans.

* * *

Rory had gone to the kitchen for another bag of popcorn, when she heard her mother's footsteps following her. It didn't surprise her. She set the timer and let the microwave start before turning to meet her gaze.

"We have three minutes before the bag stops popping, and they hear whatever we say, so say it quick."

"Why didn't you tell me about Dean?" her mother said in a breath.

"I honestly forgot. I was going to. I swear."

"I believe you. So what happened?"

"Exactly what we said happened."

"No, I mean, what _happened_?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lorelai's expression revealed her incredulity.

"We talked. He held my hand."

"He held your hand?"

"Are you going to keep repeating me? Because that seems like a waste of words right now."

"Sorry. So…? What else?"

"He's been avoiding me for the past seven years."

Lorelai winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah…and no. He's been avoiding me by watching my reports on CNN."

"Ooh! 'She's gone, I can't have her, but it's enough merely to see her,' avoidance."

"Exactly…I think…I don't know. Maybe it's more of a, 'she's gone, out of my life, and now I should associate her with bubonic plague and civil war,' kind of thing."

"I doubt that, honey."

"Why? It's no less than I deserve, after the way I've treated him."

"He's treated you pretty awfully on an occasion or two, I seem to recall."

"You think I'm stupid to be thinking about him again?"

Lorelai watched her for a moment, pondering. Rory waited patiently; she knew somehow whatever future she might or might not have with Dean would end if her mother refused her blessing a second time.

"No. I think, whatever his faults, he's always loved you, and there's nothing more appealing to a girl than that kind of devotion."

"I know," Rory said hopelessly, sinking to the table.

Lorelai sat across from her. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"It occurs to me this is a perfect example of three strikes, you're out. You and Dean have screwed things up twice. I'm betting even he won't last another round."

"You do realize you just used two sports metaphors in three sentences."

"I did, didn't I? Did I use them correctly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Sorry. It will never happen again. Could we get back on topic now?"

"Sure. So what you're saying is, if I don't love him, if this is a rebound thing, or me looking for a place to run, I shouldn't pursue this."

"Hee. 'Rebound thing.' You used one too." Without segue, Lorelai resumed their more serious conversation. "It only seems fair. _Do_ you love him, Rory?"

The microwave timer dinged.

* * *

It was late that evening before Rory walked out to the porch with Dean. She had half a feeling Luke and Lorelai would spy on them from the window, but there wasn't the slightest movement behind the curtains.

"I'm glad you came today," she began softly, as she sat down on the icy front stoop.

"Yeah, me too." Dean sounded almost surprised as he joined her.

"You thought maybe Luke was going to attack you before the end of it?"

"Maybe." He smiled. "Yeah, probably. A bit."

"You think too ill of him."

"I think it was nice of Lorelai to keep his glass full all night."

Rory grinned. Luke had been nearly unable to stand by the end of the evening. Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason the window remained clear. "Well, she's a very thoughtful mother."

"No one's ever denied that."

Comfortable silence fell around them. Rory looked up at the stars; the night was clear after yesterday's storm. The world was at peace, and so was her heart. Sitting on the steps with Dean beside her, she might well have been sixteen again.

"Do you ever wish we could go back?" she asked suddenly.

Dean looked at her askance. "Back to what?"

"Childhood. Innocence. You and me…before we wrecked everything."

Dean's back stiffened, and Rory knew she'd somehow gone too far. She'd reminded him of everything which had happened after sixteen, and that was danger territory.

"What's the point of wishing, Rory? We made our choices; now we have to live with them." He started to rise, but she pulled him back.

"You're right; I'm sorry. It was just a thought. I…I'd like a chance to get to know the you, you are now, if I could. I mean, I'd understand if you didn't want to after all I've put you through, but you're here, and so am I, and, crazy as it sounds, I can't think it's all chance."

"You think destiny's bringing us together?"

Rory searched but couldn't find derision in his tone. "I don't know. I didn't think I believed in destiny. But last night…and here, now, and it's Christmas…and I can't help but wonder, if maybe…I don't know." She silently cursed her own lameness.

"Yeah. Okay. All right," was Dean's equally eloquent response.

Rory looked up and saw the expression on his face as he looked down at her: the same mix of puzzlement, awe, and tenderness she'd fallen for when she was sixteen. Even with all the years that had passed, they weren't really so different, she thought. It gave her hope.

"So who are you now, Mr. Forester?"

Dean chuckled. "You don't start small, do you?"

"Well, you have a head start. At least you've seen me on T.V. I have no idea what happened to you after you left Stars Hollow. Where'd you go?"

"College," Dean answered promptly.

"Really?" Rory's face revealed her joy and pride.

Dean nodded. "That last night…seeing you surrounded by all those guys, that whole world I couldn't give you, I couldn't take it. I'd never felt smaller my whole life. Not even the day Lindsay found out about us. I had to get away, start over, start right."

He couldn't have hit her harder if he'd tried. Bringing up Lindsay and their last breakup all in a few short, matter-of-fact sentences. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, a tense gesture. "It wasn't all your fault. I was the louse who cheated on my wife."

"You wouldn't have cheated if I hadn't kept purposely entering your life. I hated that you were with her; I…I wanted your marriage to fail," Rory admitted.

"So did I."

Rory did a double take. "You did?"

He nodded. "I called you the first time, remember? I shouldn't have married her; it was a mistake from the beginning. You tried to tell me so."

"I only said what I did because I was jealous," she confessed for the first time – to herself as well as Dean.

"Doesn't mean you weren't right. I think I married her half out of spite, yet more proof of my louse-like status."

"You wouldn't have been spiteful if I had treated you the way I should have."

"You were in love with Jess. What else could you have done?"

"I could have been honest with you from the beginning, instead of lying to you and using you. I think that was the cruelest I've ever been to another human being in my life, and that's saying something."

"You're not cruel, Rory."

"Oh, please. We're playing True Confessions here, remember? I've been cruel and selfish and self-absorbed since I was born. I was raised in a small town and loved by everyone around me, and somehow it gave me the warped and twisted idea the world revolved around me and what I was feeling at any given moment."

"And what prompted this sudden revelation?"

"Actually seeing some of the world outside myself," Rory continued without hesitation. "Going all over the world, seeing the pain that's out there…the world is much bigger than my own petty problems."

"You have an empathy you don't even comprehend."

Rory jerked her head at the quiet, firmly spoken statement. "What do you mean?"

"I watch your reports. The pain you feel for others comes through in every word you speak."

"You mean that?"

"I don't lie to you, Rory."

She smiled softly. "I know. I like that."

He gave her a nervous, sheepish smile in return and looked away.

She tried to remember where the conversation had begun. "So you left for college. Where?"

"Chicago. My grandmother still lives there, so I was able to stay with her, work part-time, and go back to school."

"Did you ever graduate?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I'm on the ten-year plan. Yes, I graduated. With a degree in mechanical engineering."

"Good for you. And the suits? When did they come in?" She tugged gently at the navy blue collar around his neck.

"I'm in automobile design. I've been working in Detroit."

"Michigan, home of…cars."

Dean laughed. "Basically."

"Why did you say you 'have been'? Are you leaving?"

"I've been offered another position," he said vaguely.

"Not sure if you'll take it?"

"It's a foreign company. It would mean moving to Italy, leaving the States behind, my family, friends…"

"Girlfriend?" Rory pried.

"Subtle. No girlfriend."

"None? At all? In seven years?"

"It would give your ego a tremendous boost if I said yes, wouldn't it?"

"'Pining Ex-Boyfriend Refuses Love of All Others' makes for a very good headline in the scrapbook of life, yes."

Dean laughed. "Sorry to cause such a blow, but I meant currently. I've had girlfriends."

"Oh." Rory tried not to sound disappointed. "Anyone special?"

"Erica and I were together for a while."

"Define 'a while.'"

"Uh, a year or so, I guess. Maybe a little longer."

"What happened?"

Dean's mouth turned in a wry, twisted smile. "She got sick of my CNN obsession."

"Oh," Rory said, then blushed, and said again, "Oh."

"What about you? Seeing anyone?"

Rory's blush of pleasure, turned into a flush of shame, as she mumbled, "Not exactly."

"Meaning, sort of," Dean interpreted.

"You're one of those glass half-full people, aren't you?"

"Rory."

"All right. Another reporter and I have an…arrangement of sorts."

"I'm going to need more information than that to draw conclusions, Rory."

"Oh, I think the ones you're drawing are pretty accurate, _Dean_," she returned icily.

"So it's a sex thing."

Rory's cheeks flushed deeper scarlet. "When you're traveling around the world and back every few days, there's not really enough time to develop a relationship," she attempted, in weak defense. "This is…easier."

"I'm guessing they don't know." Dean jerked his head to the house.

"No."

"They wouldn't have invited me in if they had."

"No."

"Rory?"

She dreaded the question she knew was coming. "What?"

"What am I doing here?"

He'd asked her the same question years ago, on a beautiful night like this one, and she hadn't given him the reason that would keep him in her life. He deserved that answer now, if she had it to give.

"You're saving me," she whispered, facing his probing eyes squarely.

"From what?"

"Myself."


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

He had taken her to a restaurant in Hartford. He wasn't hiding, he said, but until they were sure what they were doing, they didn't need all of Stars Hollow gossiping about them less than a week after they both returned.

_And, oh, how Stars Hollow would talk_, Rory thought, _if they could see us now._

They had once been the town's poster couple for young love. Rory grew up there, practically raised by the people of Stars Hollow. Lorelai still loved to tell about the time a town meeting was held to decide if it was time for baby Rory to start solid foods.

Dean had found himself facing the microscopic attention of every citizen of the community when he started dating Rory. And he had passed with flying colors, becoming part of Stars Hollow himself in surprisingly little time.

And then the ideal had shattered. Through Jess. Through Lindsay. The human wreckage surrounding their relationship had piled so high they themselves were sacrificed to self-destruction.

Rory was convinced it was over when he left all those years ago. There was no way they could make it work after everything they'd been through. So she'd moved on, treating sex and relationships flippantly, because she had ruined the only one which might have mattered.

But after all that, here they sat, older, wiser, more cautious, but still with the same unforgettable something between them.

Rory had been in lost in thought, turning all these – and many more – things over in her head. She drew herself back to earth and looked across the table at Dean, only to find him watching her with an inscrutable look on his face.

"What?" she said, with an almost virginal blush.

"You eat cute."

"You've said that before."

"I know."

"It was a long time ago."

"Your eating habits haven't changed."

Dean smiled at her, and the red in her cheeks heightened. What was wrong with her tonight? Every little thing was turning her into a sappy fool. Butterflies ran riot in her stomach; she was surprised she could eat at all.

Although not _too_ surprised. She was her mother's daughter, after all.

She needed to change the subject. Immediately. To anything that wouldn't provoke another horrid flow of blood to her face. "Um, how's Clara?"

Dean's mouth curved at her abrupt change of subject, but he didn't attempt to draw her back to anything more personal. "She's got a boyfriend."

There was an adorable protective note in Dean's voice. Rory grinned. "And you don't like him."

Dean shrugged. "Let's just say it's the first time I've ever been on the other end of one of those 'talks.'"

She giggled. "I'd have liked to see that."

"He's short."

"Well, that must have helped."

"Little, too. With glasses."

"Aw, now that's just plain mean."

"I hope so."

Rory suddenly noticed her and Dean's hands had met and clasped across the table, fingers playfully intertwining. She stared down at them, transfixed. It hadn't been a conscious action; it almost never was. But she couldn't be near Dean without wanting her hand wrapped in his, a small link to security and strength and _him_.

"Rory?"

Dean's soft question made her jump and hastily pull her hand away. She settled her fists in her lap, where he wouldn't see their nervous shaking.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, so this boyfr—"

"It's okay, Rory. The subject's been dropped." Dean gave her a small, conscious smile; then his face took on a more serious cast than she had seen since the night f their arrival. "Can I ask you something which may or may not be prying into something personal?"

"With an opening like that, how can a girl refuse?" Rory returned, with a wary, curious look.

"Why did you come back to Stars Hollow?"

Rory paled. How could he possibly know? "For Christmas. Why else?"

"I don't know. It's just…" Dean's words trailed off, as he looked beyond her with his jaw set. "You weren't supposed to be coming back."

"Thanks a lot."

"I didn't mean from my point of view, Rory. I meant…on CNN, your last report, they said they'd be checking in with you throughout the day to monitor the situation. But they never did."

"You sat around all day waiting? Okay, Dean, the flattering part of your watching my news reports has officially moved into scary stalker land."

"It wasn't like that. I was in the airport, the news was on, so I watched."

"All day? Two and a half excruciating hours of 'The Terminal' wasn't enough for you? You had to experience the joys of airport lounges personally."

"Don't think I haven't noticed you're completely avoiding my original question, but to save us both the trouble of continuing this circular conversation, I'm going to admit I was supposed to be boarding a flight to Italy, but it kept getting delayed. Remember that job offer I told you about? I was supposed to spend a week in Rome, get to know the company a bit better."

"You're supposed to be in Italy right now? Then why the hell are you here?"

Dean sighed and settled his gaze on her face before answering softly, "Because they never went back to you."

Rory froze. "Oh."

"I was sitting there in the airport, watching this tiny television I could hardly hear, and seeing all these horrible pictures come up of what was happening in the Dominican Republic. They even had one guy on speaker phone from the Embassy there. But not you. And then they called my flight, and I went and boarded the next plane to Hartford."

"But the night we got here, you said—"

"I'd been avoiding you, and I had been, and as far as I was concerned, I _was_. It wasn't like I thought I would run into you here."

"So what, you wanted to be in town for the funeral?"

Dean shot her a disgusted look. "Can you really think that?"

Rory felt instantly guilty. "No. Not of you. I'm sorry, Dean. Bad joke."

"Yeah, it was." Dean's voice was sharp, but he gentled almost immediately as he added, "I came because I knew news of you would spread faster in Stars Hollow than anywhere else in the world. Running into you…I'm sorry if I sounded upset or defensive or something, but I'd been so worried…it was such a shock to see you here."

"Alive and well," Rory retorted dryly.

Dean gave her another rancorous look.

"Sorry." She bit her lip, knowing Dean deserved an equally honest response but finding it difficult to give voice to her feelings. It was so much easier to find shelter in humor. Finally, she sighed and confessed, "If it makes you feel better, I felt the same way."

"You did?" There was mistrust in Dean's voice.

"Well, not exactly the same, obviously. I hadn't spent the day thinking you were dead. But, you know, the shock, and relief, and defensiveness, that was all going round my head, too."

"Because you didn't expect to see me?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's you…and it's me, and that's never going to be nothing, is it?" Rory fidgeted awkwardly in her seat. She'd been much happier discussing Clara's short boyfriend.

"No, it isn't," Dean said quietly. Then he shot her a reassuring smile, one which showed he'd sensed her mood and would adjust the situation for her comfort. Like always. "So would book did you bring?"

She loved that he didn't even need to ask if she still carried one with her. He just knew that. He just knew her.

"Oh, _Wuthering__Heights_. It's an old favorite."

"Do you like the older generation better or the younger?"

Rory blinked. "What?"

"In _Wuthering __Heights_, do you like the first Catherine better or the second? Personally, I like the second generation, but the movies tend to overlook them."

"You…you read it?" Rory stammered.

"You asked me to," Dean answered simply.

"I did? When?"

"When we were dating. The first time. After I read _Emma_."

It was so long ago, Rory could barely trace the memories. But the more she thought, the more she remembered. Dean _had_ read Emily Bronte and Jane Austen and Leo Tolstoy and many more authors simply because she had asked him to. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"For what?"

Rory shook her head, pushing back the guilty tears which sprang too readily to her eyes. "For undervaluing you. I forgot…Jess made me forget. He played with my head, and I—"

"Forget it," Dean said brusquely. Apparently, Jess was still a sore subject with him.

"No, please, Dean, I need to say this." She reached out and covered his knuckles with her much smaller hand, and Dean nodded, though the tense set of his back showed how unpleasant these reminders were to him.

Rory took a deep breath and then began again. "Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of you, Dean. Of who you really were, I mean. The more I listened to other people – Jess first, and then later, well, everybody – the less I saw you with my own eyes, the way I used to. I should have seen you and known you and understood you the way you've always known me, and I let go of that. I'm so very sorry."

Dean turned his hand over, pressing her palm tightly to his. This time, Rory didn't pull away.

* * *

"I had a good time tonight."

"Yeah, me too."

The awkward pauses had died away as Dean successfully moved the discussion onto more general topics. He'd asked her about the places she had visited and made her feel so at ease that soon she'd been talking as freely she had ever done. It had been perfect.

"Thanks for dinner," Rory added. She was stalling, buying time as they sat in his rented BMW in her driveway.

"Thanks for the company."

She didn't want him to go. She didn't want the night to end and Dean to quietly slip out of her life again. But he was being no help, staring out the dashboard window at the lighted windows of the house. His hands were both wrapped tightly around the steering wheel as if ready to speed away the moment Rory stepped out of the car.

Rory braved being the forward one herself. "Would you like to come in – for a cup of coffee or something?"

Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared determinedly at her front porch. "I don't think that's such a great idea. Luke wouldn't like it."

She let out a relieved breath. "Oh, that. Luke's not home. He's at a poker game with Jackson and 'the guys,' as such additional men whose sole purpose in life is drinking and belching will forever be called. And Lorelai's out with Sookie and Babette as the result of an argument with Luke about women staying home while the menfolk are out."

"Luke told her to stay home?"

"No. But the lack of an opponent rarely stops my mother from arguing, as you well know."

"You weren't invited for ladies' night?"

Rory frowned. Dean still wasn't facing her. "I was, but I already had plans with you. Dean, what's wrong? I thought we were having a good time."

"We were…are."

"Significant verbage there."

Defeated, Dean sighed and turned toward Rory. "I want to come in and have that cup of coffee, Rory—"

"Then why—"

"But if I do that, and I look at you and talk to you and see the funny way your hair curls on your shoulders, and the spot of coffee that lands on the corner of your lips, then I'm almost going to want to kiss you."

"You think I'd have an objection?" Rory tried to flirt.

"That's not what concerns me."

"Oh, so my possible objections wouldn't matter to you?"

"Not what I meant."

Rory sighed, giving up all pretence at fun. "I know, but I'm failing to see the problem here, Dean. You want to kiss me; I think I've made it pretty clear I want to kiss you. And that's what the federal code calls 'consenting adults.'"

"If I kiss you once, I'm going to want to keep kissing you."

"You don't know that. I might have terrible garlic breath, or my kissing skills may have degenerated over the past seven years. Only one way to find out."

"Forever, Rory."

"Huh?"

"I'll want to go on looking at you, talking to you, holding you, and kissing you forever."

Rory slowly drew back, all impulse to tease deserting her at the intense, solemn look on Dean's face. "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh.' Look, Rory, I didn't want to put all this on you now. You just got back home; you're obviously going through something you're not ready to talk about yet – at least not with me. The last thing you need is some ex-boyfriend showing up and making demands on you. So this isn't a demand, or even a question. It's just how I feel. And so I shouldn't come in for that cup of coffee."

"Yeah," Rory said softly, gently opening the car door. "Yeah."

* * *

Rory entered the house quietly and headed toward her room.

The light in the kitchen was still on, which wasn't all that unusual, given her mother's wastrel, thoughtless habits. She nearly screamed when she walked in and saw Luke sitting there.

"I thought you were out," she said, once her heart-rate had slowed to a reasonable pace.

"Sorry. Got home early."

"I'll say," Rory agreed, checking the clock. Only a quarter to ten. "Must have been a lousy game."

"I was losing."

"Definitely lousy then."

"But that's not why I came home."

Rory sighed. She'd seen this discussion building since Dean had shown up on their doorstep on Christmas three days before. It was written across Luke's face long before he said a word. "I don't need the protective father speech, Luke," she said wearily.

"If you're considering getting back together with him, you do," Luke persisted.

"Luke, please, just stop. I love you like a father, you know that. And I respect your words as I would a father's. But there are things about my life you won't ever understand. And I don't want this to come between us."

"_I_ don't understand, but _he_ does!?"

The blood froze in Rory's veins. "Don't do this, Luke," she pleaded, with one more attempt at averting the argument.

"Explain it to me, then, Rory. Explain what it is about this…_boy_—" He left no doubt the kind of word that was substitute for "—that keeps you letting him back in, no matter how often he breaks your heart and treats you like crap."

And there it was, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. "Dean? Dean treats me like crap? _Since when_!? When he built me a car? Or how about when he went to a dance just to make me happy – or, hell, even a debutante ball? Yeah, there's the sign of a real jerk. The times he made me relax when I was stressed, or unwind when I was angry, or listened when I went on about whatever I was going on about at the moment. The times he defended me from other jerks – among whom I might be able to name your nephew, but I won't because I do love you, no matter what you think. Or there's always the fact that somehow, miracle of all miracles, he still loves me after all I've put him through. Yeah, can't see what I'd ever see in a guy like that."

"He cheated on his wife, Rory!"

"Yeah, and I cheated with him, so maybe we're both evil enough to deserve each other!"

"Stop that. You weren't married. He was."

"And so that somehow makes what I did acceptable? I'm sorry, Luke, but you seem to be under some mistaken notion Dean seduced me and robbed me of my virginity." She saw Luke cringe at the dreaded 'v' word but proceeded undeterred. "He didn't. Most of the time, _I _pursued _him_.I knew what I was doing. Granted, I didn't see the consequences of my actions very clearly, but neither did he. We were both young and stupid and – I need you to understand this, Luke – in love. With each other."

"So you're defending adultery now." Luke looked like he was about to be sick.

"No, I'm not defending it," she said sadly. "I've had to live with the guilt of it for the last seven years. I'm not defending the action, Luke; I'm defending the person. Dean isn't the monster you want him to be. He's…he's…extraordinary."

Luke heaved a sigh of resignation. "So basically, you're back together now, and nothing I can do will change it, huh?"

"We're not back together," Rory admitted.

"But…I thought…"

"You thought wrong. He's not willing to risk another heartbreak on someone who still isn't exactly sure what she wants."

"You sounded pretty sure just now with me."

"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent convinced Dean is the best man I've ever known or ever will know," Rory said emphatically. "Whether that means I can make it with him remains to be seen."

"I'm confused here."

"Welcome to my world."

"Rory, what…?"

Rory sighed before attempting to explain. "I have a history, Luke. A history of running away, of choosing the worst men over the best. Why do I do it? I don't know. I get bored with being happy, maybe. Tired of contentment. I go looking for adventure in all the wrong places and find heartbreak instead. I've done that to Dean too many times already. Mom gives better advice than you. And she told me what Dean couldn't have done better himself; this is my last chance. I'm not going to screw around with his heart again unless I'm sure."

"Then where were you tonight?"

"With Dean."

Luke released an exasperated sigh.

"We went to dinner. As friends. To talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes, Luke, we talked."

"About what?"

"Everything." Rory smiled, a free, innocent, happy smile. "Like when we first met. I babbled on about books and foreign places, and he made me laugh with stories about his family. It was great."

"And that's all you did?" Luke's tone was more than a little suspicious. "Talk?"

"Look at the time, Luke."

He did and smiled – or as close as Luke ever came to a smile. It showed relief. "That's all you did."

"Worry averted?"

"For the time being. Oh, a message came for you while you were out."

"Who? Lane?" she said hopefully. Her best friend was now a full-fledged rock goddess and rarely returned to Stars Hollow, but she'd left a message with her all the same.

"No, some guy. Reporter. It's on the machine."

Rory's gut clenched. She didn't want to listen to the message. She knew what it would be, knew the choice it would force her into. But compelled by that same unseen hand which had forced her to do every stupid thing in her entire life, she went to the living room and listened to the message.

"Hi, this is Grant. I work with Rory. I don't know if she's there or not, but if she is, would you have her give me a call? She knows the number."

She knew it far too well.


	4. Part Four

**Part Four**

Rory had first met Grant Whittaker on her second undercover assignment. They'd been masquerading as a married couple in order to dig up information on a tax fraud ring.

Rory had found the assignment boring, until Grant came along with his charm and his accent, his devil-may-care smile and his mentoring attitude toward her. As always when someone proved their own intelligence at the expense of her own, Rory had fallen hard for him within days.

The night their story ran top billing was the first time one of her pieces made it to air. She'd let him take her home that night.

The next morning, he'd coolly informed her reporters – particularly ones who had their career at heart – couldn't afford to get caught up in emotional entanglements. She'd agreed; it was the only thing she could do when he phrased it in those terms.

Apparently, though, the same rules didn't apply to sex. Sex was different. Sex didn't have to do with emotion. It had to do with physical need.

He'd explained it all very rationally, in the tone which made her nod along, even as she thought back to the first time she'd slept with someone. There had been need there, yes, but there had been more. Through all the wrongness of circumstance, there had been something right. Something real. Something that was all about emotion.

She'd voiced none of this, though. She'd given Grant a key to her apartment, told him to make use of it while she was gone, and they'd see each other whenever their schedules allowed.

That had been four years ago.

It was the longest-lasting relationship of her life. Never mind that he still didn't refer to it as a relationship, or that in those four years, they'd probably spent less than two months of it together. It was four years, and that had to count for something.

Right?

She held out for two days before she called. Two wonderful days full of Stars Hollow in all its glory. Preparations were in full force for Taylor's latest brain child, a Stars Hollow New Years Extravaganza. Lorelai took great delight in informing her Kirk was to portray the New Years' Baby.

Dean asked her to go with him.

She froze when he asked. "As friends?"

"No." And his heart, wholly broken, wholly hers, was in his voice.

"I…I'll have to think about that."

Something flickered across his face as he heard her answer, but she couldn't diagnose it. "I figured," was all he said.

And then she went home and called Grant.

"Hey, it's me."

"Rory? Baby?"

She hated being called baby.

"Yeah."

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm—"

"Never mind. I convinced Martin not to fire your pretty little arse."

"How?"

"Told him it was all too much for you, putting you in a war zone like that. He's finally ready to put you on a home beat."

"Finally?"

"I'd mentioned it before; he didn't believe me. Now he sees my point."

"What point?" She went numb. No feeling left in her.

"Haven't you been listening?" He sounded annoyed. "You aren't cut out for this kind of work. You never were…"

_"Just sounds a little too rough for you."_

Long ago spoken words echoed in her head, drowning out Grant's continuing monologue.

"I have to go, Grant," she said suddenly, emotion rushing back to her in all its Technicolor glory.

"Okay. How long will it take you to get back?"

"I'm not coming back."

"Rory, I told you already, I've smoothed things over. You're—"

"I'm not coming back to _you_, Grant. I'm through turning right."

"Huh?"

"Turning right. All it really does is lead you round and round in circles. You end up back exactly where you started. Luckily, for once, that's where I want to be."

"Rory, you didn't hit your head when Darryl knocked you down, did you?" There was finally real concern in Grant's voice now.

"No, I think I hit it in a car crash when I was sixteen, but I'm better now. I'm finally better now. And I have to go."

She hung up the phone, feeling lighter of heart than she had in ten years. The weight of a million bad decisions was off her shoulders, all because she had finally made the right one.

* * *

She stood there on his front doorstep, as she had so many times before, only this time there was a kind of manic energy inside her, dying to find release.

He opened the door, as she had known he would, and he seemed surprised to see her. "Rory? I thought…never mind. Do you want to come in?"

"You thought what?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. It's not important. Come in, it's freezing out here."

"It is important. You thought I was going away, didn't you? That's what you thought. That's what you thought today when you asked me to the New Years' thing, too, isn't it?"

"You're not?"

"No. I might have been earlier, but now I'm not. I finally figured it out, Dean."

"Figured out what?"

"Me."

Apparently realizing this wasn't going to be a short conversation, Dean grabbed a jacket from the coat rack and wrapped it snugly around Rory's shoulders. He joined Rory on the porch and shut the door behind him. "That's some task for one afternoon."

"Actually, it turns out I'm not quite as complex as I thought I was. Which you already knew, because you've always understood me, haven't you?"

"Now there's a question that could trap a man quickly."

"I'm stupid. That's what the problem with me is; I'm just so damn stupid. I've been going round in circles since I was sixteen, and it's taken me all this time to find the way out."

"And that would be?"

"You."

"I'm pretty sure I'm part of that same circle, Rory."

Rory shook her head, grabbing both his hands in hers as she closed the distance between them. "No, you're not. You're a destination. You're _the _destination. When I'm with you, I feel safe and whole. I always have. And then, I let myself get carried away with the idea that because life is an adventure, love has to be dangerous, too. But that's not love. What I had with Jess wasn't love. It was the excitement of something I didn't know. Something dark and…and unhealthy, though I couldn't see it then. Every other man I've been with, I've been repeating the Jess mistake. I didn't understand then – how could I? – that sometimes you don't have to experiment, sometimes you get lucky enough to find the real thing the first time around. You're it, Dean. You always have been. You're the one I want."

"Until you get bored and are ready for the next adventure." There was no mistaking the cynicism in Dean's voice.

"That's not going to happen."

"Everything we've ever been through points out what you just said is a lie."

Rory bit her lip, struggling to keep the tears at bay. How could she make him see the truth when he had every reason in the world to doubt her? "I want adventure in my life, Dean, you're right. It's part of the reason I became a reporter. And I intend to continue reporting, no matter what some people say."

"Huh? Is 'some people' supposed to be me?"

"Of course not. You've never told me not to pursue my career, and you never would." She paused for a moment, struck with sudden insecurity. "Would you?"

"Highly unlikely. You wouldn't listen to me even if I did."

"Exactly."

"I'm still not getting where you're going with this, Rory."

"My point is I know how to do this now. You are safe to me, but that doesn't mean I'm hiding from the world when I'm with you. The first time we were together, I was too young to realize all we had. The second time, we were at the wrong places in our lives; we screwed up and hurt too many people. But I know what you're worth now, Dean. I know what _I'm_ worth. And I want our third chance."

Dean's eyes searched her face for countless moments, and Rory began to fidget awkwardly. She was afraid it wasn't enough. How could there ever be enough said after all she'd put him through? All they'd put each other through.

But when he kissed her, Dean said everything left to say.

* * *

"So you're leaving me again."

Rory zipped her suitcase closed and glanced up at her pouting mother. "A very wise woman once told me when a man offers to take you somewhere, always say Italy."

"True, but did she neglect to mention you're supposed to insist on taking your mother, too?"

"That part must have slipped her mind."

"Or yours."

"Equally possible."

"You could smuggle me out in your suitcase."

"But then who would Luke have to play with?"

Lorelai sighed. "Fine. If you put it that way."

"You could always come visit me, you know. I'm not entering a war zone this time."

"Not yet, but I'm sure you'll stir one up in no time."

"What can I do? It comes with the job description."

Last week, Rory had accepted a position at the Associated Press office in Rome. Print media would get her far away from the mess she'd left behind her with Grant, as well as giving her a chance to once again use her sorely neglected writing skills. Being in Rome, well, the benefits there were all personal. Dean had taken the job in Italy.

"Although, if you can delay any serious military conflict for the next six months or so, I might, by that time, talk Luke into taking a vacation for a week or two."

"I say a month. Reach for the stars."

"Right." Lorelai nodded, valiantly fighting the tears. "I'll remember that."

"And if all else fails, pout."

Lorelai laughed. "I've taught you too well."

"Your knowledge does stray across the lines of fair play from time to time," Rory admitted.

"And again with the sports metaphors."

"Guess that means it's probably time to shut up and hug then, huh?"

Rory fell into her mother's arms for one last, long embrace. Lorelai stroked her hair and held her tightly.

"I am happy for you, you know. Did I tell you that?"

Rory pulled back slightly, so she could see her mother's face. "Really? You're not just saying that, to play the cool mom, so you won't alienate me?"

Lorelai shook her head. "No. I mean it. I think this will be incredibly good for you."

"Thank you, Mom." Rory felt the final seal had been added on her happiness in her mother's approval…well, almost the last one. "I wish Luke felt the same way."

Lorelai's mouth tipped ruefully. "I'm afraid that one might take more than endless wheedling and a few pouts."

Rory nodded sadly. "I know."

"I mean, that might take the whole contents of my dirty drawer."

"Gross."

"Hey, I do it all for you, honey, all for you."

* * *

Dean shut the trunk of the car and turned to her. "That's everything?"

"Yeah, that's it." She turned for a last look up at the house which would always be home to her.

Dean put his arm around her shoulder, turning her toward him. "You ready?"

"For anything."

Rory slipped into the passenger seat and, hand firmly wrapped in Dean's, watched contentedly as the sights of Stars Hollow drifted past. When the last beloved town landmark had receded into the distance, she turned her gaze forward. The road stretched straight ahead.

**the**** end**


End file.
